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Sixteen go-getters decided that the prospect of a 60-minute Bartman Q was somehow more attractive than the spectre of 90 minutes of Banjo, and I don’t blame them. So as not to disappoint, we gathered up, gave what was judged to be a minimally viable disclaimer, and headed to the community center parking lot, with some fortunate restraint shown by ToC’s BFT-wielding CheddarBo.
We warmed up. SSH, GM, you know, the popular favorites.
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